


In Which a Rose by Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet

by OlwenDylluan



Series: It Cannot Be Taken From You [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Other, Snakes, coparenting is hard, does it count as kid fic if the kids are snakes but so is one of the parents?, no beta we post like desperate men, snek!babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 17:44:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20492753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlwenDylluan/pseuds/OlwenDylluan
Summary: Naming things is hard.





	In Which a Rose by Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> How did Crowley and Aziraphale end up with the names Angelica, Clem, Datura, and Rosa as the names of Junior's siblings?

“This is ridiculous,” Crowley says, throwing his head back against his chair and staring at the ceiling, his legs stretched out under the kitchen table. He runs a hand across his eyes. “Can’t we just call them A, B, C, D, and Junior?”

“_Crowley! _ ” Aziraphale says, scandalized. “These are your _ children_.”

“Yeah, well, plenty of kids were Primus, Octavius, whatever. We’d be innovative by using letters, really.”

“_Crowley._”

“Besides, they’re mostly your kids, angel. You believed them into being.”

“After you told me they were _eggs _, you terrible creature. You can’t slither your way out of your responsibility in this situation.”

“Hitting me up for paternal child maintenance already, are you?” Crowley leans forward through the series of empty bottles and finds one that still had wine in it. He refills Aziraphale’s glass. “There. I hear alcohol plays a large supportive part in parenting.”

“_Crowley!_”

Crowley lifts the bottle to his lips and drinks the last couple of swallows. Across the kitchen table Aziraphale closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, holds it for a few moments, then exhales slowly.

“Crowley,” he says again, more calmly. “I know neither of us expected this. It was quite unanticipated. But really, my dear. They are here now, and they are ours, and we really have to step up, you know. We have to give them the best we can, to get a good start in life.”

Crowley sighs again and reaches for the baby name book he’d thrown on the floor. Who knew what kind of life the snakelets would have, anyway? Created from affection, with that little vibe of angelic energy inside each of them. They’d never be just snakes. 

“Wolfgang,” he says at random. “Bartholomew. Tiffany.”

“Please,” Aziraphale pleads. “Please take this seriously, Crowley.”

“Well, do you have any better ideas? We’ve been at this for hours.”

“Perhaps we’re going about this the wrong way.” Aziraphale pushes back his chair and stands, with a bit of a wobble. He clasps his hands behind his back and begins pacing slowly. “We don’t have a sense of their characters yet; they spend a lot of time asleep.”

Crowley lifts a fist and waves it in a lazy cheer. “Chips off the old block, what,” he says, slipping lower in the chair to stretch his legs out even further. He turns a bit so that his feet are no longer under the table. Aziraphale ignores him, stepping over them without comment as he walks past.

“So rather than giving them names we think would be meaningful that way, perhaps… perhaps we should give them names that are meaningful in other ways.”

“We need an Aziraphale Junior,” Crowley decides. “The black one with the blue eyes. Best of both of us, that one.”

“Crowley, that is a terrible name for a baby. I forbid it. What a dreadful mouthful. Besides, we already have a Junior; we can’t shorten another to Junior as well.”

Crowley makes a scoffing sound and closes his eyes.

“What about… oh. We could… we could name them… after plants.” Aziraphale waits a moment, and when Crowley doesn’t speak he presses on. “You do love gardening so.”

“What nonsense. What would you suggest?”

“Apple,” Aziraphale says. Crowley’s eyes snap open and he is ready to strike back, but he sees the tiniest quirk at the corner of the angel’s mouth. “I hear it’s quite stylish. Celebrities have used it.”

“That was one of mine,” Crowley says. “It’s a _ terrible _ name, angel. That was the _ point_.”

“Or… or horticultural terms,” Aziraphale says. He sounds quite pleased with himself. Despite himself, Crowley’s interest is caught. What terms would make good names?

“Alate,” he says. Aziraphale turns to him. “Means winged. Having wings. Like a, a bit around the bottom of a fruit or whatnot.”

“I know what alate means. I didn’t realize it was a horticultural term, as well,” Aziraphale says, his face lighting up. Crowley has taught him something new about a word, and the demon smiles despite himself.

“Caducous,” he says, to see the expression on Aziraphale’s face again. The bit between the angel’s eyebrows wrinkles a bit as he tries to work it out. “Falling off early, like the petals of a flower that leave a seed pod behind.” He grins lopsidedly to show Aziraphale that it’s not a bitter reference to his own start in a demonic career. _Well… not entirely._

“And it reminds me of caduceus, which has the serpents on the staff, of course.” Aziraphale looks delighted. “That’s the kind of thing. Although,” he says cautiously, “that one might be a bit dry for a little one.”

“Yeah, course.” Crowley looks up at the ceiling, frowning a bit. Then he grins. “Datura.”

“Datura? It’s pretty. But isn’t that--”

“Devil’s trumpets. Yeah.”

Aziraphale giggles and puts a hand over his mouth. “I shouldn’t laugh. They’ll think I’m mocking them.”

“Angel, they’re asleep downstairs. You didn’t want the conversation happening where they could hear it. Which, apparently, was part of the problem last time, and how I got saddled with five danger noodles screaming ‘Father!’ at me instead of inert ping-pong balls in a glass box, as they ought to have been.”

“I like Datura,” Aziraphale says. He moves back to his chair and sits down, leaning his elbows on the table, watching Crowley. “What else?”

“Well.” Crowley considers, then grins again. “Clematis.”

“Clematis?”

“Could be Clem, if we give to one of the boys.”

“Clematis, clematis…” Aziraphale, having caught on very quickly, digs through his memory, then smiles triumphantly. “Devil’s bite?”

“Or devil’s nose, yeah.” This is a good game, but Crowley lets his thoughts range further.

“I… I have a suggestion,” Aziraphale says, a bit bashfully. Crowley raises his eyebrows and waits. “Could… could we call one Rosa?”

“Rosa?” Crowley echoes.

“The roses in the Garden were so very lovely,” Aziraphale murmurs. Crowley looks at his romantic angel, his heart warming, and smiles gently.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, they were. Rosa’s a good name. That’ll be the little white one.”

“One left,” Aziraphale says.

“Nope,” Crowley says, pushing back his chair and standing up. He starts to gather the empty wine bottles, carrying them to the counter. Aziraphale blinks. 

“But my dear--there are five babies, you know--we have Junior, Clem, Datura, Rosa--that’s only four. We’re still short one name.”

“Nah,” Crowley says, coming back to the table. “We’ve got five. The little black one with blue eyes is Angelica.” He drops a light kiss on the top of Aziraphale’s head and brings another load of bottles to the counter. Behind him, he hears the angel’s breath hitch, just a bit.

This coparenting might not end up being as much of a chore as he’d thought.

**Author's Note:**

> No one warned me that writing one made a bunch more spawn in the brain!


End file.
